


Stinging Velvet

by greenripper (OracleGlass)



Category: Leverage
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, F/M, Kink Meme, Knifeplay, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OracleGlass/pseuds/greenripper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written from a prompt in the Leverage kink meme: Nate/anyone D/s<br/>The control-freak wants to learn how to submit, for his own mental health<br/>Sophie finds a way to bring Nate into the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stinging Velvet

Sometimes Sophie wonders what it's like to be inside Nate's head. She imagines it must look like a chalkboard at the end of the school day - things written, half-erased, arrows pointing to different concepts, important words circled, or maybe underlined with three vehement strokes.

Her intention, today, as she fastens the cuff around his wrist, is to wipe over that board with a damp rag, at least for the space of a few hours. He tugs against the cuff experimentally, shoots her an almost shy smile as it holds, just as the one on his other wrist holds, firmly but without pinching. He's standing near her bed, arms above his head, tied to a ceiling hook that generally suspended nothing more exotic than a potted ivy but was now doing another sort of duty. Sophie walks in a slow circle around him, saying nothing, and he turns to watch her as best he can, trying to figure out how this is going to play. Always trying to get two steps ahead of everyone, that's Nate. Five steps, if he can manage it. He's in black dress slacks, a plain white undershirt, bare feet on her nice hardwood floor with the wide planks. He's not on tiptoe, but he's up on the balls of his feet a bit, just enough to remind him where he is.

Sophie isn't wearing anything so obvious as the classic dominatrix uniform, although she could probably muster one from her expansive closet if she chose. Instead, she is primly dressed in dark grey, a simple dress, crisply tailored, with white cuffs. Dove-grey gloves complete the ensemble, which makes her look like the matron of a Swiss boarding school. Her heels, severe, black, peep-toe stilettos with ridiculously high heels, click on the floor as she circles him. He has also noticed the riding crop at her side, the strap looped over her wrist.

"Let's go over the rules once more," she says crisply. "You will not speak unless spoken to. You will address me as ma'am. And most importantly, you will do as you're told. Are we clear?"

He nods, and she corrects him. "Out loud."

"Yes, ma'am" he says, his voice hoarse.

She strokes him, sliding a hand up under his shirt and then down again, a caress down the length of his back and then around to his belly and chest. His eyes close as she moves to run her fingertips along his jawline and over his lips, but his eyes fly open when she slaps his cheek - not too hard, but enough to bring him back to wide-eyed attention. "Eyes on me, Nate," she says softly, and he nods, obediently silent.

He flinches visibly when she produces the knife. Unable to resist, he stutters, "Sophie, hey, wait, uh..." and she grabs him by the chin with her left hand. In a steely voice he's never heard from her before, she says, "Rules, Nate," and he gulps and nods, letting the protests die in his throat. She leans in, her breath a small puff against his cheek, and slices the shirt, her hand steady. With a few careful cuts, the shirt is a ragged mess on the floor, and Nate is shivering from the combination of Sophie, knife, and cool air. She unbuckles his leather belt and puts it on the bed. He shifts nervously, once, as she cuts away his trousers, but Sophie is quick and pulls back in time so all he gets is a red line down the outside of his thigh. Sophie tsks at him. "Don't hurt yourself, Nate. That's not what we're here for."

"What are we here for? Uh, ma'am." He can't resist the question.

"We're here to give you some focus. For the next little while, I want you only thinking about being here, being in the moment. No plans, no schemes. Just you, me, and what I make you feel. That's all you're to think about, Nate."

She circles him again, tugs his boxers down and instructs him to step free of them. He's visibly uncomfortable at being naked in front of her this way, but that discomfort hasn't prevented him from growing an erection he has no way to hide. Sophie runs the leather handle of her crop down his thigh, being very careful not to brush against his cock. Then, with a quick movement, she steps to the side and cracks him across the ass.

Nate yelps, sags forward, receives another blow that leaves a pale red welt along his backside. "Hush, please," Sophie instructs, and delivers another carefully placed strike along the back of his thighs. The sting burns through him, it's all he can think about, and when Sophie cups his balls in her gloved right hand, the combination of sensations makes him dizzy. She releases him, steps back and calculates her distance, and smacks the crop smartly against his thigh, perilously close to his balls. Nate bows his body backwards protectively, stammering, "Geez, Soph, that's sort of close, would you please..."

"Nate, speak again without my instruction and I'll gag you."

He recognizes that it's not an empty threat, and falls silent, gasping through clenched teeth as she welts him again on the thigh, then back on his ass. The pattern of the blows falls into a steady rhythm and the pain turns into something else, something he can't put words to. He's breathing deeply, the quality of light in the room has changed, he feels like he's flying apart but he can still feel each piece of himself. A quantity of time passes before he comes back into himself. Sophie has stopped, and is watching him carefully, reading his body language with ease.

"Mmm, yes," she says, smiling a small, fierce little smile. She steps into him, pulling him into a deep kiss and at the same time pinching his left nipple, hard. He gasps against her mouth, his cock rubbing against her thigh as he loses his balance, sways against her, his knees buckling.

She steps back again, letting him dangle, and this time sends the crop arcing at his chest, where it stings against his right nipple. Nate bucks, seeing stars, his back arching, but he resolutely remains silent.

"You're being a very good boy, my dear," Sophie purrs. She leans back in, presses her body against him, and curls her hand around his cock, stroking. The sensation of her gloved hand on him actually makes him whimper, a sound she's never heard from Nate and which makes her stomach do a slow flip, although she keeps any hint of this from her face. Her other hand is tracing his ass, gliding delicately over the red welts cris-crossing there, while she continues to stroke his cock with delicate precision.

It's too much to take, complete sensory overload. Nate groans and slumps against her, his orgasm shaking him from head to toe as he comes in her hand, spraying her dress, the floor, himself. For a few moments they stand there, with her supporting him completely as he pants and sobs, shaking. With delicate care, she finally reaches up to unfasten the buckles on his restraints, and helps him into her bed, kicking off her shoes and casting off her headmistress persona as she curls up next to him.

He's asleep within minutes. Sophie, watching his face relax into untroubled rest, smiles down at him, pulls a sheet up over his limp form, and goes to change.


End file.
